


A Previously Black and White World

by FoolishWit



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:37:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7191506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoolishWit/pseuds/FoolishWit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stormpilot Soulmate AU. Children see in black and white until some time in their teenage years they gain the ability to see in color… but only when they meet their soulmate. Rewrite of The Force Awakens as if it were primarily a Stormpilot Soulmate story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to and blamed on linatrinch and Bluestem. Because they both have the most INCREDIBLE Stormpilot fics out there right now, and after weeks/months of rabidly reading their updates, I had to jump into the fray. If you're looking for something awesome to read after you read this, go find their stuff. They're amazing.
> 
> Also? I don't usually go in for soulmate fics, but this one was tugging at my brain, so here goes...

Disclaimer: Story isn't mine. Lots of dialogue isn't mine. Characters aren't mine. I'm just playing with them.

...:::...  
Chapter 1  
…:::...

Poe was pissed. It was an odd thought to have at this particular moment, especially for the reasons he was having it.

_Life was unfair._

...Partly because the First Order arrived in the small village on Jakku he was currently visiting, just _seconds_ after he obtained the information needed to find Luke Skywalker. Poe couldn’t have conceived of worse timing. Hope had bloomed in his chest when he’d been handed the map, only to have his stomach plummet into his boots with a sick rolling sensation when BB-8 told him they had company mere moments later.

...Partly because his ship had been damaged by stray blaster fire from the obnoxious flock of proletarian grunts that had swarmed off of the transports and disseminated into the village like an unintelligent disease. Stormtroopers were famous for being severely incapable of hitting whatever they were aiming at, and here they’d managed to take out his ride _by accident._

...Partly because he was an incredible shot--he’d easily dropped three stormtroopers while crouched behind a rock that jutted out of the desert--and would have easily killed the tall man who arrived shortly thereafter wearing a ridiculous amount of dramatic black fabric if the man hadn’t been so skilled with the Force that he could _stop a blaster bolt midair._

 _Who knew_ **_that_ ** _was possible?_ Poe thought angrily as a white, armor-clad foot caught him roughly in the back of the knee, forcing him down to kneel on the ground.

As previously mentioned: life was unfair.

And the worst of it--the thing Poe couldn’t stop circling back to in his mind--was that as soon as he started dashing through the village, dodging wildly fired shots from all sides and listening to the panicked shouts and screams of those who called these meager surroundings home, his world had bloomed into color.

The blaster fire was an exquisite blue that shone terribly against the hot, red flames that enveloped nearby structures. The myriad of skin colors around him, splashed across the different species, had made him catch his breath as he had tried to concentrate on his mission.

_Get the map back to the General._

Poe had snuck into the village as quietly as he could that evening, bringing a different ship than he’d be expected to fly, and keeping hidden as he made his way to Lor San Tekka’s tent. The villagers had been quiet, and most were indoors. It didn’t surprise Poe that he’d missed his soulmate on his way in. He’d been hiding from them, after all. But on his way back to his ship, he must have passed them. One of the panicked masses watching their home burn to the ground and their family and friends die around them was his soulmate.

There was no way to tell which one, and there was no room for another organic life form in his ship even if he _could_ figure out who it was.

And besides… this was the world they lived in. He was sure that whoever his soulmate was would understand--he couldn’t stay and risk the lives of all of the good people fighting against the First Order by squandering the first lead the New Republic had found in months. His chest squeezed as he tried to desperately convince himself that there was nothing he could do. Getting this map to General Organa would save a lot of people if it meant bringing an end to the First Order.

How many other pairs of soulmates would he save by ensuring this information got into the proper hands?

Even if it meant sacrificing his own?

Poe’s concentration snapped back to the present as the tall, masked man crouched in front of him silently. It was all a moot point now. BB-8 was smart, but it stood a slim chance of getting off this planet in one piece to deliver the map to the New Republic. And so here he was. It was kind of fitting, honestly. Romantic, in a grand, epic, ridiculous sort of way. He’d just found his soulmate, and even though he didn’t know who it was, they were probably going to die here, together, tonight.

Poe’s patience had worn thin, and his tendency to run off at the mouth got the best of him. “Who talks first? You talk first? I talk first.”

“The old man gave it to you.”

“It’s just very hard to understand you with all the…” Poe waved a resigned hand in front of his own face, referencing the mask and voice modulator the other man wore.

Poe was dragged back up to his feet, and the stormtroopers at his sides were ordered to search him. They found nothing, and Poe thought miserably that this was one of the more ironic soulmate scenarios he’d encountered. He gained the ability to see color, only to be killed minutes later by a horde of drones and their leader, each of them clothed in black and white.

Couldn’t the Universe have at least provided him with something interesting to look at before he was struck down by the lightsaber of a monochromatic lunatic?

At least the lightsaber was red. Even as it was used to murder Lor San Tekka, Poe had been moved by the beauty of the hue.

“Put him onboard,” the lunatic commanded.

Poe’s expression blanched as his mind screamed, _No!_ He wanted to stay here, ridiculously, with his soulmate. He’d never survive whatever the First Order had in store for him aboard the ship, and he’d rather just get his death over with now. And, selfishly, he couldn’t bear the thought of his world slipping soundlessly back into greys and shadows once the stormtroopers slaughtered everyone in the village.

Everyone including his soulmate.

He’d only had colors for a matter of minutes, but he’d fallen in love with them. Evolution was pretty intelligent, Poe thought idly as he was yanked up the walkway to the ship. Of course you’d fall in love with a person if you were given a world of _color_ at the same time. How could you not?

Poe heard the order behind him to kill the villagers, and he stumbled, trying frantically to look behind him at the mass of frightened individuals corralled into a group by the faceless soldiers who had all raised their weapons and had them trained on the crowd.

There was no way they’d miss at that range, with that many of them, no matter how bad their aim supposedly was.

Poe swallowed thickly, his stomach turning as screams erupted behind him and the sound of blasters cut through the night air. Poe squeezed his eyes shut as he was dragged forward by strong hands wrapped around his upper arms, not wanting to watch the slide of color into the bleakness he’d lived his life in up until this point as his soulmate was gunned down behind him.

Had the First Order followed him? Or were they just there for Tekka?

Poe winced and shuddered out a harsh breath as he considered the possibility that his arrival in the village had brought about the massacre he’d just witnessed. The thought that he’d been responsible for his soulmate’s death took his breath away as he was manhandled into an interrogation chair and shackled into place.

Unable to keep his head up under the grief and shame of the night’s events, Poe stared, unseeing, down at his lap.

After a moment, alone in the room with his thoughts, Poe realized his sleeve was brown.

It was a fairly ugly color, actually. He loved this jacket because it fit him well and kept him warm. Comfort was the way he’d always chosen his clothes. But this… This was not an attractive color of brown.

But it was brown.

Poe turned his head slightly to look at his shoulder. Light red and pink stared back at him.

His soulmate had survived.

Somehow… Maybe they’d hid somewhere? Maybe the stormtroopers had left some of them alive? On purpose, by accident, it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that they were alive.

The slight hint of a smile that tugged at the corner of Poe’s mouth was tempered by the thought that in very short order his soulmate would have to become accustomed to a black and white life once again, since the chair he was strapped to was probably not reserved for guests who would be well taken care of.

But a life without color was still life, and Poe felt a sense of calm settle over him, despite the dire situation he himself was in.

His soulmate was alive. And that could be enough for him.

…:::...

TBC.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Not mine! None of it! I'm borrowing so heavily from the actual movie that I feel like a fic imposter. DISCLAIMED, babies.

…:::...  
Chapter 2  
…:::...

FN-2187 was panicked. He’d been trained for years for this kind of mission: land on a planet, disembark the transport, secure the area, subdue any resistance, and follow the orders of superior officers for any additional actions.  

Seemed simple enough, until the additional order was to murder his own soulmate.

FN-2187 felt like they’d landed on a planet with no oxygen. His ears rang, his face burned, and no matter how deeply he gulped air, he couldn’t seem to breathe.

He and his squadron had landed on Jakku just as planned, and he’d jogged off the transport along with the rest of his fellow troopers. The instantaneous violence gave him pause, though, and while he strode forward with purpose, he kept his blaster couched against his side, unfired. The attack was unsettling, and he tried to come up with justifications for his reticence in case he was questioned about his inactivity on the planet surface after returning to the Finalizer later.

Stormtrooper helmets didn’t provide the greatest field of vision, but FN-2187 noted three troopers fall in sequence near him after being hit, and he dropped quickly to one knee next to the closest of them after glancing in the direction of the blaster fire. It was dark, but he thought he saw movement just behind one of the large rocky outcroppings on the edge of the village…

He reasoned with himself this was the best use of his attention: attempting to give aid to a fallen member of his squadron; he hoped it was a believable excuse as to why he was not joining in, igniting the village and rounding up its inhabitants with the other troopers.

Crouching over the familiar, generic black and white armor he had grown up with, FN-2187 suddenly blew out a shocked breath and threw a hand out to one side, taken aback by the color of his comrade’s hand as it came up to smear weakly across his helmet.

The hand was shiny with wet, red blood.

Colors. He was seeing colors.

Stormtoopers rarely found their soulmates. Sequestered into squadrons and kept isolated on specific decks on the starships they were stationed on, it was difficult to find the one person in the galaxy that allowed you to see color. This was purposeful: soldiers distracted by romantic attachments weren’t as effective. So at thirteen, they were separated in batches, and rarely interacted with anyone outside of their small group.

Their lives were black and white. FN-2187 had heard that even if you did begin to see color, you wouldn’t be able to tell, since the First Order deliberately dressed them all in black and white, and the majority of the ship was various shades of metal and duracrete grey. What was the point of being able to see color if there wasn’t any around?

FN-2187 shot to his feet, frantically spinning to take in the onslaught of color around him. The villagers’ clothing was vibrant, even in the dark, and the fire--

He’d never imagined something so destructive could be so beautiful. Every lick of flame and every spark of explosion was stuffed so full of different shades that it didn’t even occur to him to duck back down again--someone had been firing on troopers right where he stood, and he could very well be the next target…

His self-preservation instincts kicked in at the same time as the realization hit him that someone in this village must be his soulmate. It couldn’t be someone in the First Order, because he’d spent the last several weeks in a section of the Finalizer with every person on the ground right now. His soulmate was someone new, and unique to this location. Horrified at the prospect of his soulmate being killed in the attack before he even got the chance to see their face and know who they were, FN-2187 stumbled sideways, backing toward a thick-walled structure.

There were too many people here. There was no way to tell--

Did they know he was their soulmate? Were they looking for him, too?

They had to be--

FN-2187’s stomach dropped as he remembered what he was wearing. He looked like every other trooper in the village right now, and in all the chaos, who in their right mind would go running up to members of the invading army to check to see if they were meant to be together?

His heart went out to his soulmate--whoever it was had gotten the short end of the stick, that was for sure. Not only would they never get to actually meet their soulmate, but they’d die tonight knowing that one of the people sent to kill them should have been the love of their life. If that wasn’t the very definition of fucked up, he didn’t know what was.

Kylo Ren had arrived with his customary, overly-dramatic propensity for theatrics, and FN-2187 stood by while he questioned and killed an old man two troopers had dragged forward. FN-2187 didn’t pay attention to what was said; he was too busy scanning the crowd of frightened people in front of him.

 _Who are you?_ he thought desperately.

How could he save them, even if he figured out which one his soulmate was? There were too many people here on both sides, watching. If he tried to sneak someone on board a transport they’d surely be discovered, and his soulmate would be killed on the spot. Who knows what they would do to him; reconditioning? Or would they kill them both and dump their bodies unceremoniously into the sand before taking off? He was nothing special--the First Order probably wouldn’t think twice about adding him to the list of acceptable casualties in the war against the New Republic.

A second man was dragged in front of Kylo Ren after attempting to shoot him with a blaster--dumb move--and FN-2187 immediately went back to trying to figure out who in the crowd was _his_. Would he be able to tell, if he caught their eye?

This was impossible! How did people do this? How did soulmates know, in a throng of people, who it was they needed to find?

The second man was hauled off toward one of the transports, and FN-2187 heard Captain Phasma ask, “Sir? The villagers.”

“Kill them all,” came Kylo Ren’s reply, and FN-2187 felt suddenly torn between crumpling to his knees, and throwing himself in front of the innocent lives who had just been sentenced to death.

And, if he was honest, he selfishly only wanted to throw himself in front of one. Just one of the innocent lives. The rest of the deaths would be horrible, and regrettable, and he’d deal with the moral consequences of them all later, but right now, _right now_ if he could just save _one_ life, if he just save his _soulmate_ \--

The troopers around him had already opened fire, and FN-2187 felt his arms raise his weapon, more as camouflage than anything else, and watch helplessly as every man, woman, and child that stood in front of him fell to the ground. The noise of the blasters drowned out his strangled, dry sob, and he stood, rooted to the spot long after it was all over.

It was over.

It was over for his _soulmate,_ FN-2187 corrected himself. It wasn’t over for _him._ His mind went numb at the thought of the rest of his life, never knowing which face he was supposed to have loved. Which face should have looked at him with joy and adoration, instead of betrayal, and fury, and fear. Which face he hadn’t been able to save.

He barely registered the fact that Kylo Ren stopped to stare in his direction before proceeding to his ship, and the unexpected, high-pitched sound of the frozen blaster bolt finally hitting the monument in the center of the village startled him. He cursed in surprise and staggered to the side, his heart hammering in his chest.

 _Survive. Just get on the ship like you’re supposed to, and unpack all of this shit later. Just get back on board,_ FN-2187 told himself. Kylo Ren had noticed him, and that was never a good thing. He was supposed to be faceless. He was supposed to be completely interchangeable. And he was not supposed to be acting like he’d just carved out his soul with a butterknife and tossed it into the flames of the village.

 _Maybe this is exactly what I deserve,_ FN-2187 thought, anguished. _I failed as a trooper, and I failed my soulmate. Someone like that doesn’t deserve to walk away from this unpunished._

His blaster hanging limply at his side, FN-2187 managed to point himself in the direction of the nearest transport and board in formation.

He barely registered those passing him once he returned to the Finalizer, looking instead for an empty corner, a hallway, a room where he could try to wrap his mind around the devastation he’d just witnessed.

Not just witnessed. Been a party to.

Hurrying down the first short corridor he could find, FN-2187 pulled his helmet off and took several gasping breaths. He looked down at the red smear of blood across the mask and begged whatever power in the galaxy might be listening for the strength to keep from throwing up.

“FN-2187…”

The measured voice of Captain Phasma made him jump, and he swung his head around guiltily to see his superior standing behind him.

“Submit your blaster for inspection.”

“Yes, Captain,” FN-2187 replied promptly, turning away from her. It felt foreign to be in her presence without his face covered, and the vulnerability didn’t sit well with him.

“And who gave you permission to remove that helmet?”

“I’m sorry, Captain.” Well, if he wasn’t in trouble before, he sure as hell was now. _Hang on, soulmate,_ he thought grimly. _I might just see you again sooner than I thought._

“Report to my division at once.”

Yep, definitely in trouble. Still breathing hard, FN-2187 steeled himself for whatever Phasma had in store for him, and shoved the helmet back onto his head. He turned and took three steps back out of the hallway before he pulled up short.

His helmet was covered in blood.

The blood was still red.

FN-2187 looked around the massive section of the Finalizer he stood in and gazed at the blue cast high on the wall, the red First Order banners, and the various orange and yellow blinking lights above doors and on consoles.

His soulmate was still alive.

_How?_

FN-2187 was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they had left none living in the village on Jakku. No one had gotten out of there alive.

The only people who left that village were those now aboard this ship, and that was only storm troopers and Kylo R--

...and the prisoner that had been brought back with them.

The dumbass who had fired on Kylo Ren.

No.

He couldn’t be.

FN-2187 backed up several paces until he was again sheltered just inside the deserted corridor he’d just left.

It was the only explanation, and beyond anything he could have hoped for, since this meant they were both alive and on the same ship, and--

And one was probably already being tortured for information, and the other was about to be sent for reconditioning or killed.

Not the greatest circumstances, but FN-2187 figured it could be worse.

He could work with this.

…:::...

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figure a really great way to short circuit years of stormtrooper training is by asking someone to murder their soulmate. 
> 
> "Uh... no?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so so so sorry for how much of this update is verbatim from the movie. This chapter needed to be from Poe’s perspective, and unfortunately, he doesn’t know much more at this point in my soulmate story than he did in the film, so his perspective is extraordinarily similar, and his motivation is, too. Please bear with me--we have Finn back in Chapter 4, and I promise that it will have all kinds of squishy soulmate feelings and a healthy dollop of pining and angst. Thank you for your patience.

Disclaimer: Not mine, never mine...

…:::...  
Chapter 3  
…:::...

The First Order didn’t waste much time getting right to it. Poe had barely managed to hurl three colorful curse words at the trooper in front of him when the torture started.

After a half hour, the armor-clad grunt in front of him pulled back, his comm squawking slightly. Poe didn’t catch what was said as he turned his head to one side to spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

The blood was blissfully crimson, and Poe gave a harsh smile before his interrogator caught him one more time in the stomach with a heavy punch before turning toward the door.

“Good luck,” the trooper called over his shoulder, his modulated voice lilting with what Poe assumed was amusement. “This was just the warm up.”

Poe didn’t care. There wasn’t anything he could do about BB-8 from here, and his soulmate was alive. _Bring on whatever comes next,_ he thought. _I’m okay with being done._

…:::...

“I had no idea we had the best pilot in the resistance on board.”

Poe opened his eyes slowly, lacking an opinion about whoever it was that had spoken. He’d gotten a decent reprieve once the first interrogator had left, and he’d gladly let his pounding head slip him into unconsciousness while he waited, alone in the room, for his next host.

He’d given a fake name during his first session, but apparently they’d done enough research to find out who he really was, and his rank in the New Republic. That was unfortunate.

He wondered how long the man in front of him had been standing there, but he couldn’t bring himself to care too much. His mind foggy with stress and injury, Poe leaned his head forward, studying the new addition to his room.

“Comfortable?”

“Not really,” Poe replied lightly, letting an edge of attitude color his answer.

“I’m impressed,” Kylo Ren drawled, stepping forward. “No-one has been able to get out of you...what you did with the map.”

“You might want to rethink your technique,” Poe suggested. _Maybe work on me for a little longer?_ he considered adding. _I was just starting to have a good rapport with that last guy--I feel like we were forging a real connection--_ His internal filter kicked into gear, and he swallowed the rest of the sass that threatened to bubble up.

Minutes later, he regretted not having told Kylo Ren to go fuck a sarlaac when he’d had the chance. His head felt like it had split in two and been scorched with a flame thrower by the time he was left alone, barely conscious and slumped sideways in his restraints. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to form any kind of intelligible speech ever again, and felt it was a pity he’d missed his chance to insult Kylo in the several languages he was fluent in.

Especially because he’d broken. They knew about the map. They knew about BB-8. Kylo Ren had ripped every piece of information he’d searched for right out of his mind, and Poe felt sick about it. BB-8 would be found, and destroyed in order to get at the map, and the New Republic would suddenly have a whole new set of problems on their hands.

He’d failed.

…:::...

Poe had no sense of how much time passed before the door to the interrogation room slid open again and admitted another carbon-copy trooper.

“Ren wants the prisoner.”

Poe cut his eyes apprehensively at the new trooper as the restraints around his wrists sprang open. His legs were freed a moment later, and he did his best not to throw up on the floor as his head spun when he was pulled roughly to his feet by his guard. He felt himself sway unsteadily, and the new trooper stepped quickly to his other side, curling a strong hand around the back of his elbow, propping him up until he had his balance.

“I’ve got this,” the duplicate assured the first trooper, quickly clamping wrist binders on him. His arm was grabbed again, and a blaster was aimed at his chest as the trooper whisked him out of the room and along the maze of identical corridors.

Poe figured the speed with which they were moving couldn’t be a good sign. Why did Kylo Ren need him again so immediately?

“Turn here,” the trooper said quietly, shoving Poe sideways into a small alcove that barely fit the two of them facing each other.

Poe’s head had cleared somewhat, and he started wondering what it would take to remove his wrist binders, when the trooper spoke again in a hushed voice.

“Listen carefully--you do exactly as I say and I can get you out of here.”

Poe’s brows knit together in confusion. “What?” he asked, figuring he’d misheard.

Suddenly the helmet was gone, and an earnest, worried face was inches from his. A human face. A sincere face. The clear sense of urgency was not lost on Poe, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling over all of the dark features in front of him. He was cute--

“This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE fighter?” the man asked, his voice tight. His face looked… expectant?

Poe tried again to make sense of the situation. “You with the resistance?” he asked, scrambling for a plausible explanation.

“What? _No--_ ” the other man hissed, clearly irritated at how slowly Poe’s comprehension of the situation was moving. “I’m breaking you out. _Can you fly a TIE fighter--?_ ”

“I can fly _anything,_ ” Poe interrupted, a flicker of hope flaring hot in his chest. If he could escape… he could get back to Jakku, grab BB-8, and find whoever had survived the slaughter in the village.

He could meet his soulmate.

Still confused by his rescuer’s motivations, Poe frowned at the stormtrooper, even as the man’s face broke into a euphoric smile that seemed to light up his entire body. Narrowing his eyes, suspicion clouding his voice, Poe asked, “Why are you helping me?”

The dark eyes in front of him dropped down, the joyous grin fell immediately, and the other man let out a short breath as if Poe had disappointed him. When he finally looked back up again, he fixed Poe with a wistful gaze and gave a half-hearted shrug. “Because… it’s the right thing to do.”

Bullshit. Poe could tell there was more to the story as sure as he knew his own name. This guy was trying to defect, but he couldn’t get off the Finalizer alone. “You need a pilot,” he guessed confidently.

The beautiful face of his rescuer broke into a helpless plea. “I need a pilot,” he agreed desperately.

Poe nodded, raising one cocky eyebrow. “We’re gonna do this,” he said.

The desperate look on the other man’s face took on an even more pitiful quality. “Yeah?” he asked, needing reassurance. Poe’s heart broke for the guy--he’d never considered the man behind the mask before, and now that he’d seen the scared, disenchanted, and frankly fragile-looking inhabitant of the cold, generic white armor, his chest squeezed as he remembered how many of these men and women he’d killed without remorse on past missions.

“Yeah, come on. Get that helmet back on and show me to the hanger.” As the trooper adjusted the fit of his mask, Poe jutted his chin out in the direction of the blaster where it had been laid on the floor. “Don’t forget that. Let’s go.”

…:::...

Poe tried to keep a cowed and intimidated look on his face as he was led through the huge halls of the Finalizer, the trooper’s hand occasionally reaching out to press firmly against the middle of his back. Poe couldn’t be sure whether it was to sell the idea of his control over him to anyone watching, or whether the poor guy needed constant reassurance that this plan was actually happening, and Poe was an unimagined entity.

“Okay, stay calm, stay calm.”

The trooper’s murmurs drifted softly from behind Poe, who hissed back, “I _am_ calm.”

“I’m talking to myself,” the trooper corrected him. Poe couldn’t help himself; he turned, one eyebrow raised, to look back at his nervous rescuer in disbelief. The simultaneous bravery and vulnerability in this man was endearing, and Poe shook his head, turning back to face forward again. Soulmate. He had a soulmate now. No need to go falling for his savior, no matter how handsome he was, or how grateful Poe felt.

"Not yet... okay, go! This way!" the trooper whispered, nudging Poe to the left toward a bank of TIEs.

As they crossed behind a wide support beam, strong hands grabbed Poe and spun him, shoving him back against the duracrete. The trooper pressed in close to him to avoid being seen by anyone in the hanger as he unshackled Poe's wrists, and Poe again found himself mentally repeating, _Soulmate, soulmate, soulmate..._ as he forced his eyes up and away from the man in front of him.

He told himself the fact that he couldn't seem to control his breathing was because he was in the middle of a daring escape attempt. A little bit of breathlessness was to be expected in this kind of situation.

They climbed into the TIE and Poe shrugged out of his jacket, feeling too warm in the small space. _Still bigger than an X-wing,_ he thought, scanning the control panel in front of him. The craft rocked slightly as the trooper dropped into the seat behind him.

“I’ve always wanted to fly one of these things,” Poe admitted. “Can you shoot?” he asked, raising his voice slightly.

“Blasters I can,” came the reply.

“Okay, same principle,” Poe said, giving the other man a ten-second tutorial on what he needed to do.

“This is very complicated,” the trooper said, his voice low and intimidated.

The TIE lurched forward, and Poe found himself feeling slightly embarrassed to have taken off with so little finesse, despite it being his first time flying this particular kind of fighter. _Doesn’t matter, Dameron,_ he told himself. _This stormtrooper has never been in one of these before; he doesn’t know how smooth the ride is supposed to be, and besides: why are you trying to impress this guy--?_

The TIE snapped back with a jarring clang as the tether caught and halted their escape.

“I can fix this!” Poe shouted, frantically adjusting switches with one hand while keeping his other firmly on the stick. He swung the fighter to one side, and ignored the flashing yellow light to his left that signified an incoming transmission from the hanger control tower.

The ship shuddered slightly as stormtroopers below them opened fire on them, and almost immediately there was a pale green cast that bathed the inside of the TIE as it returned fire with a recognizable, high-pitched whine. _Not_ **_too_ ** _complicated, huh?_ Poe thought, immensely proud of his rescuer for handling the weapons so well on such short notice. _Decent aim, too._

With a metallic shriek, the tether released, and both men were tossed in their seats as they accelerated out of the hanger at top speed. “Whoa! This thing really moves!” Poe moaned, surprised and elated by the sensation of flying a ship he’d never dreamed he’d get a chance to experience.

Poe curved them into a tight arc and doubled back on the destroyer’s canons, shouting the need to take them out if they wanted to get very far without being blown to pieces.

“Up ahead! Up ahead, you see it? You got it, dead center, it’s a clean shot--”

Shots flew from the TIE and the fighter raced through the fiery explosion and debris as both men inside whooped in triumph.

Poe grinned widely at the proud bellowing coming from behind him: ”Did you see that? _Did you see that?_ ”

“I saw it!” Poe assured his partner, wishing he could see the joy he imagined was painted blatantly across his face. “Hey, what’s your name?” he asked, feeling more and more uncomfortable with thinking of the man who had risked his life to save his as ‘the trooper’.

“FN-2187!” he replied immediately, the designation sounding both formal and well-rehearsed.

“Eff-- _what?_ ” Poe asked, craning around in his seat in an attempt to look at the other man.

“That’s the only name they ever gave me!”

Indignation roared in Poe’s mind on behalf of his friend, and he spat back, “Well I ain’t using it! FN, huh? Finn. I’m gonna call you Finn; is that alright?” The sound of the name being repeated behind him with curiosity and then appreciation made him grin widely, and he added, “I’m Poe. Poe Dameron.”

“Good to meet you, Poe!”

“Good to meet you, too, Finn!”

An array of alarms accompanied by a rainbow of lights lit up the console in front of Poe, and he shouted hasty instructions to Finn about the shots just fired from the Finalizer’s ventral canons. Finn hit one easily as Poe careened out of the way of another.

“ _Nice_ shot!” Poe affirmed, keeping his eyes on the screens in front of him.

“Where are we going?” Finn asked.

“We’re going back to Jakku,” Poe said, feeling simultaneously elated at the prospect of finding his soulmate, and wondering when he’d have to say goodbye to Finn. It was too much to hope for that he’d want to leave the First Order only to join the New Republic’s forces.

“Really?” Finn asked, his voice filled with surprise. “Why do _you_ want to go back to Jakku?”

Poe frowned. “You say that like you want to head back, too. Why do _you_ want to go there?”

“I asked you first!”

Poe rolled his eyes at the juvenile response. “I gotta get my droid before the First Order does!” he yelled over the sound of the TIE. He felt dishonest, not explaining his additional desire to find his soulmate, but figured he hadn’t lied--finding BB-8 really was of utmost importance. “A BB unit, orange and white, one of a kind--”

“I don’t care what color he is,” Finn shot back, frustrated. “No droid is worth--wait. You said he’s orange?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You _can_ see color?”

Poe swallowed, suddenly worried that he’d given something private away. He’d never referred to a color before, and honestly, he hadn’t meant to. It had just slipped out. “Yeah…” he said repeated hesitantly. “Why…?”

“I’ll tell you when we land--now what’s so special about this droid?” Poe couldn’t see Finn’s face, but he could hear a smile and a strange delight in his voice.

“He’s got a map that leads straight to Luke Skywalker.” _Again with the oversharing!_ Poe thought. _Shut up! You just met this guy! So what if he saved you? Why are you giving away the biggest secret the New Republic has right now--?_

“Seriously? I always thought he was a--”

A horrible screech of metal drowned out the rest of Finn’s response, and an explosion rattled the TIE, spinning it wildly out of control. Compressed air hissed harshly in Poe’s face, and half of his control panel was twisted and dark. The fighter was bathed in a caustic orange light as the craft hurtled through the upper layers of Jakku’s atmosphere, and Poe frantically adjusted everything that still functioned in an attempt to keep them on course to the village where he’d left BB-8 and his soulmate.

“Finn?” Poe shouted, wondering if his companion was even still alive. The shot had hit them on the weapons side of the TIE, and he knew there was a very good chance his rescuer was already dead. “ _Finn?_ ”

The craft shuddered toward the ground, and Poe hauled on the controls, trying to keep them airborne for another hundred miles, hoping to crash closer to his destination. Crashing was inevitable at this point, he knew. All he could do was try to smash into the planet at an acceptable walking distance to the village.

One of the small window panes flew off, and a hot gust of air filled the TIE. Additional alarms started blaring as previous warnings fell silent--Poe knew the quiet was likely due to complete failure, and not improvement of the systems.

There was no way he could put them down gently, and Poe considered his options grimly. If he popped out the back canopy and ejected Finn in his seat with the attached parachute, he’d lighten the fighter considerably, and he might just limp a few miles further before he himself had to eject the same way. Anything in the craft when it touched down wouldn’t survive.

“ _Finn?!_ ” Poe bellowed. “Listen, buddy, I’m gonna eject you--hold tight! If you can hear me--I’m sorry! When you hit, walk west, okay? _West!_ ”

Another section of the TIE screeched and peeled away from the body, and Poe had to fight to keep them from rolling.

“Okay, here goes! And Finn-- _thank you!_ ” Poe ground out fervently. “I owe you more than this, and I’m sorry! Good luck!” With that, he slammed the heel of one hand down on the weapons seat eject button, and the fighter shuddered wildly as the back half blew apart, jettisoning Finn with a billow of white parachute. Something in Poe's chest squeezed painfully and unexpectedly at the loss and he winced. 

Immediately, Poe realized the maneuver hadn’t helped. He was losing altitude, and he had no more tricks up his sleeves. Cursing loudly, he cinched his harness tighter and punched his own eject button, flinging himself out into the hot morning air of Jakku.

…:::...

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Not mine. 

…:::...  
Chapter 4  
…:::...

FN-2187 made his way to the armory as quickly as he dared: he was ironically grateful to have the generic trappings of the stormtrooper armor still on, to camouflage his movements and identity as he disobeyed a direct order, and walked in the opposite direction of Phasma’s division.

He was acutely aware of the blood smeared across his helmet, and he muttered nervous consolations to himself about how it probably just looked like a grey mud smudge to most people he passed as he hurried toward the nearest dispensary. He needed a fresh suit without identifying marks on it. Once that was taken care of, he used one of his bunk-mate’s designations to request information on where the prisoner brought up from Jakku was being held, and he started off toward the interrogation room at a jog.

He slowed to a quick walk as he neared the door. What if he was wrong? What if his soulmate had hidden somewhere in the village? What if they’d survived the attack, and the man he was risking everything to try to break out of here was just another resistance fighter?

 _Okay, back-up plan,_ FN-2187 reasoned with himself. _If this guy is just **some guy** , he’s still a pilot. He can get me off of the Finalizer and back down to the planet. I’ll go back to the village and-- _

The doors slid open in front of him, and FN-2187 had to work carefully to keep his strides even.

He’d never been so thankful for his mask in his entire life.

The pilot reclined against an interrogation device, his arms and legs strapped in by heavy metal cuffs. A harsh, overhead light cast slightly blue shadows across him, and his chest rose and fell slowly. His face was turned away from FN-2187, and his temple was smeared with blood that also matted his hair on that side of his head.

Trying to stick to the script he’d laid out for himself on the way there, FN-2187 swallowed and said, “Ren wants the prisoner,” in what he hoped was an even tone.

Beneath his helmet, FN-2187 cringed and bit his lip, not bothering to school his expression into anything other than the genuine dismay he felt at the way the pilot looked at him as he opened his eyes.

Nothing. No spark of recognition. Not even curiosity.

_How badly had he been beaten?_

_Is this him? Is he mine?_

_Can he even still fly? What if he has a head injury?_

Anger and a protective fury threatened to burst from FN-2187 at the thought of someone torturing his soulmate.

 _Stay calm,_ he told himself. _You don’t even know if this is the right person yet…_

Freed from his restraints, the pilot was wrenched to his feet by the trooper guarding him. The poor guy swayed, his face taking on a slightly sickly green color. FN-2187 flew forward before he could think better of his reaction and caught at the pilot’s elbow, allowing him to lean into him for support.

After a moment his color improved, he took a deep breath, and straightened.

 _Damn, he’s tough,_ FN-2187 thought somewhat proudly as the pilot lifted his chin and held out his hands expectantly.

The movement snapped FN-2187 back to the plan, and he fumbled to clamp wrist binders onto the prisoner.

“I’ve got this,” he confirmed, nodding hastily at the other trooper before sweeping his prize out of the room and down the hall.

FN-2187 hoped he wasn’t moving too quickly for his new charge, and wondered again what kind of torture he’d been subjected to. He seemed to be moving okay, and was fairly steady on his feet. FN-2187 hated the fact that he had to keep his blaster aimed at the poor guy’s chest as they moved through the corridors of the Finalizer, but he had to keep up the illusion until they could get off the destroyer.

Spotting a small alcove off one of the side hallways, FN-2187 took the opportunity and shoved the pilot sideways at the last second. “Turn here,” he instructed.

Squeezing in behind him, FN-2187 set his blaster down carefully on the floor at his feet. There was no way the man in front of him would ever trust him if he was armed and looked like a toy plastic soldier.

“Listen carefully--you do exactly as I say and I can get you out of here,” FN-2187 began, reaching for his helmet.

The pilot, his shoulders hunched apprehensively and his hands held up in front of himself as meager protection, looked back at him like he had spoken Huttese. “Wait, whuh--?” he stuttered.

 _Damn, he must have been knocked around harder than I thought_ , FN-2187 worried. He pulled off his mask and stared, bare-faced, into the eyes of the resistance fighter.

Even beaten and bloodied the man was beautiful. It occurred to FN-2187 that a mistake must have been made if this was his soulmate, because he surely didn’t deserve to look at such a handsome face for the rest of his life. The shock on the pilot’s face concerned FN-2187: this wasn’t the way they should meet. This wasn’t the first conversation they should be having. This should be romantic, and not rushed, and his soulmate shouldn’t be covered in blood, and he shouldn’t be sweating in trooper armor while he explained--

“This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape. Can you fly a TIE fighter?”

The pilot still looked confused. Not a good sign. “You with the resistance?” he asked.

“What? _No--_ ” FN-2187 hissed, disappointment pooling in his chest. This couldn’t be his soulmate. Could it? This was a horrible beginning. Doubt crept coldly down the back of his neck. “I’m breaking you out. _Can you fly a TIE fighter--?_ ”

“I can fly _anything,_ ” the pilot answered, his response coming quicker, and accompanied by a sly, confident smile that caused FN-2187’s breath to hitch. He was vaguely aware that he’d started to grin when the eyes in front of him narrowed suspiciously. “Why are you helping me?” he asked.

The question felt like a blow. FN-2187 had been _sure_ this was his soulmate. All he wanted to do in that moment was crush the man against the wall behind him and--

But obviously the attraction was not mutual.

FN-2187 dropped his eyes. Even if they _were_ soulmates, he was a stormtrooper. Not the most romantic job in the galaxy, and this gorgeous, brave, adventurous resistance pilot would probably never see him as anything but a black and white target to pick off as he flew past in his ship.

It was much more likely that his soulmate was a surviving villager. And if that was the case, he needed to get back to Jakku.

 _Okay, time to stop obsessing over the pretty prisoner and get your ass down to the planet._ “Because…” FN-2187 said carefully, “It’s the right thing to do.”

A beat, and then: “You need a pilot.”

Shit, he was intuitive. “I need a pilot,” FN-2187 begged. He figured there was little point to trying to impress his potential rescuer at this point if they weren’t soulmates. At this point he just needed a lift.

With an adorably cocky raise of one eyebrow, the pilot started to smile. “We’re gonna do this,” he said.

FN-2187’s heart leapt. “Yeah?”

The pilot nodded, and FN-2187 grabbed his helmet and blaster.

“This way. Just walk in front of me and try not to look suspicious,” he instructed.

FN-2187 had trouble keeping his mind on the mission as he guided his prisoner towards the hanger. They were almost the same height, and he couldn’t help but stare at the dark curls that walked a strides-length in front of him.

If this wasn’t his soulmate, he’d find them on Jakku. He had a soulmate. He had a soulmate.

He never thought he’d have the chance. FN-2187’s heart started beating faster, and he murmured to himself, “Okay, stay calm, stay calm…”

“I _am_ calm,” came the quiet, somewhat affronted response.

“I’m talking to myself,” FN-2187 explained. The pilot turned slightly to glance back at him like he was crazy.

He had beautiful eyes, even when they were glaring at him like he thought he was a ridiculous child.

Twice, FN-2187 reached out to touch the pilot’s back as they walked. He wished desperately that he could just _ask_ the man-- _Are you my soulmate?_ But every time he drew in a breath to do so, fear ground its heel down on the impulse, and he withdrew his hand and kept walking. _Not the time or the place,_ FN-2187 told himself.

As they neared the bank of TIEs with the fewest troopers gathered nearby, FN-2187 saw their chance, and nudged his prisoner to the left.

"Not yet... okay, go! This way!"

As soon as he had him behind a wide support beam, FN-2187 dropped his blaster and grabbed the pilot. He’d need his hands free in order to fly, and FN-2187 selfishly took the opportunity to crush against the other man, pinning him to the duracrete wall as he fumbled with the locking mechanism on the wrist binders. Cursing himself for not thinking ahead, he squinted through the visor of his helmet--he should have taken the damn thing off first. He wished he could look into the pilot’s eyes again, one more time before getting into the TIE. There was a good chance they’d be shot out of the sky during this escape attempt, and if this was the last time he got to be face-to-face with his potential soulmate--

FN-2187 finished unlocking the cuffs and looked up to see the other man’s eyes directed up toward the ceiling.

He didn’t even want to look at him. He was uncomfortable even being near him.

_Another point in the Not My Soulmate category, then._

The pair climbed into the TIE and FN-2187 finally shed his helmet.

“Can you shoot?” the pilot shouted at him.

“Blasters I can,” FN-2187 replied, hoping that would be helpful enough.

“Okay, same principle--”

FN-2187 tuned out the rapid-fire instructions being given to him. _Life really wasn’t fair_ , he thought. He’d always known that, really, but this was just salt in the wound. If there was no way to tell who your soulmate was just by looking at them, how did anyone ever know? For sure? What if you made a mistake? How many people found their soulmates in crowds? What were you supposed to do? Just stand there shouting for whoever had just realized the sky was blue, too?

“This is very complicated,” FN-2187 complained to himself. Evolution should have made this whole soulmate thing a lot easier.

The TIE lurched forward, and FN-2187 realized he’d missed the explanation of how to fire any of their weapons. He scanned the triggers, toggles, and slides, figuring out which looked like they controlled missiles and cannons, and hoped he wouldn’t have to ask his rescuer to repeat himself.

After a second of flight, the TIE snapped back with a jarring clang as the tether caught and halted their escape.

“I can fix this!” the pilot shouted as FN-2187 noticed a group of troopers running in their direction, their blasters already pointed at them.

FN-2187 grabbed the trigger in front of himself, swung the aiming system toward the troopers on the ground, and fired. A group of them scattered, blown back by the shot. Trying not to wonder if he knew any of them, FN-2187 gritted his teeth and swung the aiming system to fire on another group before blasting the control tower.

With a metallic shriek, the tether released, and FN-2187 took a deep breath at the sensation of sudden speed. He was used to the movement of the larger transports, and had never been in a TIE. His stomach lurched. FN-2187 closed his eyes and held tight as the fighter made a tight turn around the underside of the destroyer. He realized the pilot was shouting at him about taking out the nearest weapon on the Finalizer, and FN-2187 gasped for breath, wide-eyed, as he tried to follow the urgent instructions.

“Okay, got it…” he whispered to himself, lining up the shot. He pulled the trigger, and the hanging cannon in front of them exploded into a red blossom of flame and debris as both men inside whooped in triumph.

”Did you see that? _Did you see that?_ ” FN-2187 bellowed with elation.

“I saw it!” The assurance sounded like it came with a smile, and FN-2187 wished he could have seen it.

“Hey, what’s your name?” the pilot asked suddenly.

“FN-2187!” he replied immediately, hearing the impersonality of the string of letters and numbers as it left his mouth. Who could fall in love with a man who had a designation and no name?

“Eff-- _what?_ ” Apparently not this guy.

“That’s the only name they ever gave me!” he replied grimly.  

“Well I ain’t using it! FN, huh? Finn. I’m gonna call you Finn; is that alright?”

The minute the word left the pilot’s mouth, Finn had already accepted it. He tried it out, already knowing he liked it, but wanting to feel how it sounded coming from his own mouth. “Finn. Yeah--Finn! I like that!” _Please let this man be mine,_ **_please_ ** _\--_ “I like that.”

“I’m Poe. Poe Dameron.”

Poe. Goddamn it, even his name was perfect. “Good to meet you, Poe!” he managed.

“Good to meet you, too, Finn!”

_Please say my name again?_

Finn fought to follow the instructions Poe tossed at him for the next few minutes, managing to hit one of the cannon blasts that had been sent after them.

“ _Nice_ shot!”

Finn’s face split with a proud smile at Poe’s compliment.

Finn marveled at how smoothly Poe handled the TIE. It was his first time flying this kind of fighter, and yet he effortlessly avoided all shots fired in their direction, and had them pointed back toward--

“Where are we going?” Finn asked suddenly, realizing he hadn’t expressed his desire to return to the village yet.

“We’re going back to Jakku,” Poe replied firmly.

“Really?” Finn asked, amazed that Poe seemed to be on the same page with him even without discussing it, and also confused. If this guy had an ounce of self-preservation instinct, he’d fly them both out of the system immediately and back to a resistance base. Maybe he didn’t trust him? Was he going to abandon him in the desert before taking off again and leaving him there alone? “Why do _you_ want to go back to Jakku?” Finn asked, needing clarification.

“You say that like you want to head back, too. Why do _you_ want to go there?”

Frustrated, Finn rolled his eyes. “I asked you first!”

“I gotta get my droid before the First Order does! A BB unit, orange and white, one of a kind--”

“I don’t care what color he is,” Finn shot back, frustrated. A droid? Why the hell was this guy interested in a stupid droid? “No droid is worth--wait. You said he’s orange?”

“Yeah, why?”

“You _can_ see color?” _Finally, a point for the Yes He’s My Soulmate column!_ How long had he been able to see color? If his world had bloomed to life during the attack on the village, that’s all Finn needed to know.

“Yeah… Why…?”

Finn’s smile could have lit up a black hole. “I’ll tell you when we land! Now what’s so special about this droid?”

“He’s got a map that leads straight to Luke Skywalker.”

Finn raised his eyebrows, impressed. Poe must be pretty high on the resistance food chain if he was trusted with that kind of a mission. “Seriously? I always thought he was a--”

A horrible screech of metal drowned out the rest of Finn’s response, and his head snapped wildly to the side. His last thought was of Poe before he lost consciousness.

…:::...

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, super repetitive. But just hold onto your lightsabers, people, because at this point our adorable little space turnips get split up, and you're going to get to see what they both do when they're separated. No more duplicate chapters. :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read and commented! I appreciate the love!! <3


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Still, incredibly, not mine. 

…:::...  
Chapter 5  
…:::...

Poe Dameron loved flying. There was nothing else in life that provided the same excitement, danger, level of required intellect, and diversity of action. He loved the fact that there were unlimited numbers of different fighters and ships and crafts; he loved how each one moved in its own way and had its own strengths and beauty; he loved the feeling of power that was still tempered by a sense of being very small and fragile. 

A pilot could be shot out of the air at any moment, and they might not even see it coming. No-one was ever guaranteed a tomorrow, especially with the recent acts of violence displayed by the First Order, and their continued threats of more. Death was the great equalizer, and so Poe figured he might as well live fast--and fly fast--in the meantime.  

Talent didn’t always matter but it sure helped, and Poe was never one to shy away from owning his reputation as the best pilot in the resistance with pride. He enjoyed the small amount of celebrity it brought his way, and pushed him to be even better--he wanted to continue to earn the admiration of others and the fame that came with it. 

Poe Dameron loved just about everything about flying. 

Except landing. Landing sucked. 

Especially when you were no longer in a craft. 

Having ejected far too close to the ground, the parachute didn’t have enough time to adequately slow his descent, and Poe hit hard, sending up a spray of sand as he slammed into a dune, tumbled several feet, and finally slid to a stop. He squinted in the bright, hot sun of the morning, and coughed and spat, trying to rid his mouth of uninvited sand. 

He gave himself a quick check, sitting up and rolling his shoulders before pushing himself to his feet and scrambling up the embankment to its peak. Nothing seemed broken, and his vision was clear.  _ At least I have that going for me, _ Poe thought.  _ I’m stranded in a desert with no water and no transport, but at least I didn’t snap myself in half when I landed.  _

Poe scanned the horizon, but couldn’t see any trace of Finn or his chute. His gut gnawed at him, hoping he’d done the right thing by ejecting him. Poe knew he’d dropped his rescuer much closer to the nearest outpost, but he still couldn’t be sure if Finn had even been alive at the time he’d been jettisoned from the craft. It was more probable that Poe had just shot a burned up corpse out to rot in the vastness of Jakku’s desert. 

Somewhat surprised by how much that idea unsettled him, Poe pushed the thought aside and turned in the direction of the village. The faster he could get there, the faster he’d be able to drink something. 

“Can you believe they had me on board for so long and didn’t offer me anything?” Poe asked the golden expanse in front of him as he set off through the sand. “I mean, you’d think an organization like that, run by a bunch of regimented protocol fanatics would have some sort of etiquette, right?” Affecting a fairly accurate Empire accent, he continued his one-sided conversation as he fought to keep his footing on the long, steep slope. “‘Yes, we  _ do _ apologize for the demonic assault on your head, Commander; may we offer you some refreshment before we let the next lunatic have at you?’ ‘Why, yes,’” Poe answered himself, dropping the accent. “‘That would be great. I’ll take a Mandalorian kri’gee. Doesn’t have to be cold, and don’t water it down… And some roast gornt would really hit the spot; I know it’s kind of a Twi’lek specialty, but I bet you’ve got someone around here who can look up how to make it…?’”

By the time he made it to the village, the sun had dipped low in the sky, and Poe’s imaginary banter had long since ceased. His mouth was dry and his throat protested every arid breath he took. 

The still-smoking rubble was a pale, ashen imitation of the colorful village that had stood in that very same spot just the day before. The logical part of Poe’s brain knew that it was silly to miss colors when he’d had them for less than a day, but his heart ached at the grey layer that coated every structure in the town. It looked like the stormtroopers with their flame throwers had even torched the bodies of those they’d executed before leaving, their twisted forms charred and crumpled into an unrecognizable mass in the center of the small square. 

_ They’re not in that heap, _ Poe told himself, gritting his teeth. He looked down at the warm color of his skin as if to confirm his soulmate’s continued existence.  _ Okay, first thing’s first: water.  _

Poe knew where the well was, having passed it sneaking into the village the night before, and he was relieved to find the bucket and rope still functional. After quenching his thirst and dumping a second bucketful over himself, he stood, shaking his head briskly. The droplets that flew off of him and hit the sand disappeared in an instant. He raked his fingers through his wet hair and started off toward the far end of town. He’d look at this logically and check every structure in a sweep, advancing methodically through the village, looking for evidence of a survivor. 

He’d only made it halfway by the time the sun dipped low enough to impede and finally halt his progress. 

Sighing, he picked a nearby hut that still held its partial-duracrete structure fairly well and crawled inside, exhausted and hungry. 

His hope was starting to fade, replaced by a creeping chill of dread. No-one was alive here, that much he’d been able to tell upon arrival. But it didn’t look like anyone could have gotten out, either. 

So where was his soulmate?

And where was BB-8? 

Poe figured BB-8 would have scanned the area and realized Niima Outpost was the closest option for something approximating civilization. It could have made it there in half a day, and would probably wait for Poe there if it didn’t find an immediate ride off the planet (which was about as likely as Luke Skywalker suddenly showing up and offering to take him out to dinner).

Curling up on a stack of rough, only slightly crispy blankets, Poe determined to find something to eat, and then find something to fly or ride once he woke up. He fell asleep with a frown creasing his forehead, trying to think of  _ anything _ but his soulmate. 

…:::...

At first light, Poe groaned and stretched, his back complaining. After tossing another bucketful of water over himself, he finished combing the village for signs of life, though he wasn’t surprised when he found none. 

He was, however, successful in locating a small speeder that kicked on after two attempts. Poe ate what food he could find, filled a canteen with water, and--after a very short ethical battle with himself--pocketed a handful of things he knew he could sell or trade for passage off the planet on a less-than-reputable ship at the Outpost. With a solid plan in place for recovering BB-8 and getting back to the Resistance base, Poe gave a last, melancholy nod to the village, and set off toward his next destination. 

Ghosting over the sandy surface of Jakku with nothing else to occupy his mind, Poe found his attention volleying back and forth between two separate topics.

The first being his soulmate. Might the First Order have grabbed more prisoners to take aboard the Finalizer? In the chaos, he could have missed others being hauled onto one of the other transports before Lor San Tekka’s death. This was an unfortunate option, since this meant his soulmate was still aboard the First Order’s destroyer, and Poe had no way of rescuing them. 

He longed to know what they looked like, who they were, what their name was. Whether they’d ever been in space before, or whether they’d been born and raised on Jakku. If they’d ever flown in any of the small fighter crafts--Poe smiled broadly as he imagined being able to take his soulmate flying and introduce them to the wonder of it. 

Like Finn--they way he had whooped with satisfaction and joy as they’d made their escape in the TIE, the elation evident in his voice when--

_ Eyes on the prize, Dameron, _ Poe corrected himself. Finn was the second topic that his mind just kept tugging him back to, which was frankly infuriating. This whole soulmate thing was truly problematic. If someone suddenly gained color in a crowd, but couldn’t find their soulmate in the crush of people, were they destined to erroneously cast their heart toward the next being that was kind to them? No matter how ill-fated that would be? Once Poe saw color, it had seemed like the whole world came alive, despite his perceived proximity to his own death at the time. Of course the well-meaning trooper who wanted nothing more than to escape (from what was probably the equivalent of a boring desk job on that destroyer) would appear attractive to him. Finn was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone who stepped in front of a camera at the last second and got included in a holofilm by accident, blocking out the actual subject. 

_ And besides,  _ Poe thought ruefully. Finn was probably killed when the TIE got hit, and if he wasn’t, Poe had ejected him out into the desert with nothing.  _ Finn’s gone,  _ he told himself.

Poe huffed a harsh breath out through his nose.  _ Soulmate, soulmate, soulmate,  _ he thought over, and over…

…:::...

By the time Poe arrived at the Niima Outpost, its inhabitants were in a state of utter pandemonium following an attack by the First Order earlier in the day. No-one could answer his questions about whether an orange and white astromech droid had been seen there over the course of the last day, and no-one knew anything about Finn or survivors from the nearby village slaughter. Through his overriding sense of frustration, Poe managed to find some sympathy for the residents there: almost all of them had lost something in the attack, and none of them had any idea why they’d been subjected to the senseless brutality. 

If BB-8 had made it there, it was long gone at this point. The First Order had probably scooped it up and blown the place to smithereens just because they had the fire power and some time to kill. 

With an empty ache in his chest, Poe swapped what he’d lifted from the village for passage on a trading vessel bound for Ponemah Terminal, where he knew he could contact the General. She’d find a way to get him back to the Resistance from there, and maybe one day, once the war was over, he could come back to Jakku and start the search for his soulmate all over again. 

If he survived the war.

And if his world didn't slip back into gradients of greys before then. 

…:::...

TBC.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: May I have them, please? Because right now they’re not mine, but I would very much like them to be.

…:::...  
Chapter 6  
…:::...

Finn regained consciousness abruptly, his heart pounding as he gasped desperately for air as if he’d just remembered he needed it to survive. He opened his eyes in a panic, only to clench them closed again as brilliant sunlight stabbed down at him, searing his vision and blinding him for several seconds. He sat up, clawing with uncoordinated hands at the buckles around his chest. Once freed from the parachute, he scrambled to his feet.

Squinting in the harsh light of the morning sun-- **_damn,_ ** _it was hot on this planet during the day,_ he thought--Finn spun, looking around in every direction. Off in the distance he caught sight of a black plume of smoke that rose from the garish burnt orange of the desert sand.

Orange.

The desert was--

“Still alive,” Finn whispered. “ _Still alive!_ ” he repeated emphatically through gritted teeth, and broke into a run in the direction of what he knew had to be their TIE fighter crash site. Poe--if he was indeed his soulmate--hadn’t died in the crash.

During the time it took him to jog heavily through the sand to the smoldering wreckage of the TIE, Finn talked himself out of and then back into the staunch belief that Poe Dameron was his soulmate. The fact that he didn’t seem to be overly concerned with Finn was unfortunate, but maybe Poe was just as confused as he was? Confused… and handsome... and brave, and an incredibly talented pilot--

...who seemed more intent on getting back to his droid than anything else. Shouldn’t he be joyously searching for his soulmate, if he’d only gained the ability to see color in the last half day? Why would he want to go back to Jakku if he knew everyone in the village had died except the members of the First Order? Wouldn’t he want to--

...no, of course not. No one in their right mind would want to stick around on a star destroyer with an army of soldiers who wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if they were instructed to do so. And that instruction had been _very_ likely. Of course Poe would be a conflicted mess as he made his escape from the Finalizer. He had no idea Finn was his soulmate--he must have thought he was leaving his one true love behind on that ship. A monster in sterile, faceless white armor. Poor guy was probably heart broken--

Finn broke into a sprint as he neared the twisted heap of metal that had carried them down to the planet. “Poe! _Poe!_ ” Finn shouted hoarsely, his tongue thick in his already parched mouth. “ _Poe!_ ” He scrambled up through the flames that licked at his calves, and peered into the cockpit, his heart thudding sickeningly in his chest.

He couldn’t see the whole interior of the small ship, but what he could see looked terrible. No one could have survived this crash. A lump of an unattractive brown color caught Finn’s eye, and he grabbed at it, pulling Poe’s jacket away from the mess.

Finn’s heart plummeted. Poe’s jacket. He must still be in there somewhere, but… there was no way he could still be alive…? Was there?

Just as FInn leaned forward in an attempt to climb into the TIE, there was a groan of metal, and a whoosh of hot air that carried the sting of sand with it, sparking at Finn’s cheek as the entire structure in front of him shuddered and tilted to one side. Finn launched himself backward away from it, watching in horror as it sank faster than it had any right to, disappearing into the desert, tossing up plumes of sand as it went. Finn gave one last plaintive, “Poe!” as the last visible portion of the left wing was lost from site.

Finn stood, clutching the jacket in one hand and breathing heavily. He stared, open-mouthed, at the empty spot that had swallowed the man who had rescued him.

His soulmate.

Finn waited, trying not to panic, and cringed in anticipation of his world blinking into black and white again.

But the sky stayed blue, and the sand remained yellow.

Finn wasn’t sure which idea hurt worse: the fact that Poe was dead, or that Poe wasn’t his soulmate. He’d been so _sure_ …

Then who…?

Poe had been so perfect! Finn’s heart ached at the thought that he’d never see him again. He wanted to know where his rescuer was from, why he’d joined the Resistance, how he’d learned to fly like that… He wanted to have had a chance to see the pilot’s eyes widen as Finn told him they were soulmates. He wanted to know what it felt like to--

Finn jumped as a huge dust cloud exploded up from the ground behind him with a bone-shaking _boom!_

Like the universe needed to drive home the point that Finn needed to forget the pretty pilot and move on with things. _Thanks,_ Finn thought bitterly. _I got it. No need to break out the pyrotechnics…_

His head pounding, Finn picked a direction at random and struck out to the West, feeling for some reason like that was the best course of action. As he trudged slowly through the sand-- _who knew it was so damn hard to walk in this stuff?--_ Finn shed the layers of stormtrooper armor, discarding them to the side without a second thought as he placed one foot in front of the other.

He didn’t want another soulmate.

He wanted Poe.

After ridding himself of the last white piece of his previous uniform, Finn draped Poe’s jacket over his head. He told himself it was for protection from the sun, and not for sentimental reasons that he kept the heavy leather piece of clothing.

Finn started resenting each shade of yellow and orange that his feet passed over. He hated the clear, calm blue of the sky overhead.

If he was going to die of thirst out here in this goddamn desert, why did it have to continue to mock him with color? Why hadn’t he died in the TIE with Poe? Why hadn’t his world bled back into black and white as the pilot had gone down with his ship into the sand? Either would be preferable to walking himself to death on this wasteland of a planet, completely flummoxed by his lack of potential soulmates at this point. He was sure it wasn’t a fellow member of the First Order, but that would mean… someone survived the assault on the village? Finn’s stomach twisted, and his steps faltered slightly. He had no idea where the village was in relation to where he was now, but if he could just get back there and search…?

As Finn neared the top of a tall crest, he dropped the jacket from his head, gasping for breath as he stared down at what looked like an emaciated collection of structures in the distance.

A town.

Or whatever passed for something similar on Jakku.

Maybe someone there could point him in the right direction? Maybe someone there would know…?

Gritting his teeth, Finn started down the slope of the sand dune, Poe’s jacket gripped tightly in one hand.

…:::...

TBC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize about the wait on this! I just moved and started a new job, so my life has been insane over the last month and a half! I do have plans for this little fic--don't worry. I'm hoping the next chapter is up before Comic Con. Because I've got tickets, and that will keep me fairly busy/distracted/half-crazed with joy next week. ;) But my goal is to get through the whole movie in this soulmate story, so stay tuned!


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